


New Gods

by WreckkedRekt



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-08 21:40:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12262605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WreckkedRekt/pseuds/WreckkedRekt
Summary: Light Yagami has built his career defeating the wicked. Working successfully as one of the top police leaders beside the mysterious detective L, Light has just about everything he could wish for in his profession.But when a vicious killer by the name of Retribution arises from the shadows with powers beyond this world's comprehension, unstoppable officer Light finds himself at the end of his rope.And possibly his life.





	1. Prologue: Rising Powers

  
.  
.  
.

  
**10:40 p.m.**

  
Blood is running over her hands

 

It’s mixing with the rain, the dirt; swirling down the shower drain in a macabre marble of pink and grimy brown.

She stumbles, breathing heavy, pressing her hand over her stomach. Black nails dig into the torn fabric of her shirt, thick beads of crimson welling between her thin fingers.

One. Two. Three steps she stumbles.

But she won’t let go. She won’t let it slip through her hands this time.

 

“You won’t….You won’t make it out of here”

 

, a voice hisses in the dark. The woman looks up, catching the face of a man in the swinging overhead light. He still looks as defiant as ever. But no amount of resistance could mask the fear creeping up from the backs of his eyes.

She laughs at him, the sound harsh and grating, breathless, as a long chunk of blonde hair catches on her bruised nose.

 

“I should be the one telling _you_ that, big boy”

 

She rushes at him, one fist raised to brandish a knife. The man kicks out, the sole of his boot catching her in the ribs and sending her spiraling to the nasty tile. The knife falls from her hand. She makes a strangled noise of pain as the man clambers unsteadily to his feet.

 

“Give up”

 

, he says, pulling his gun from the holster at his thigh,

 

“You’ve lost it all.”

 

The blonde throws her head up, lips pulled back against her teeth in an ugly snarl as she throws herself forward, letting go of her bleeding stomach to grapple with the gun when the man pulls it free.

She hits him hard across the jaw and a bullet is sent into the ground, the shot ceramic exploding into millions of shards and a puff of wet dust. The gun is knocked away and sent skidding across the floor.

They both go for it; launching to the ground, kicking and wrestling and clawing for the weapon as it lays shining in the flickering light.  
She had to get to the gun first. She had to win.

She couldn’t lose, not after coming so far, doing so much. The power was hers, rightfully so, and she’d be damned to Hell if she’d let it all slip away now.

 

  
Not after all the pain. The _killing_.

She was closer then she’d ever been.

 

A brick comes down hard on the man’s head. He cries out in pain, spots popping in his eyes and blood springing from the gash left on his brow. Red washes over his left eye and dribbles down his chin, his teeth clacking together when a fist meets him hard across the cheek.

The woman lurches, arms extended and hands falling over the pistol.

_Her_ savior. _His_ reckoning.

Laughing- no -cackling wildly, she stands tall on her knees.

 

“I win!”

 

, she squeals, head throwing back as lightening flashes through the window and bathes them both in an instant of blistering white,

 

“Do you see?! Do you see, Yagami?! I’m God! I am _God_!”

 

 

There, the man’s eyes shoot wide in horror. The fear in them was all encompassing now.

No more defiance. No more courage. Just like she'd known.

 

  
And there, she unloads five rounds into his head.

.  
.  
.

 

 


	2. Cheap Wine and Simple Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two pals share a simple toast and it's totally bro friendly

  
**11:59pm**

.

.

.

  
He couldn’t remember how it started.

 

 

These little excursions after a case. It was always the same; send the bad guys away, close up the case files, and head out to the nearest liquor shop for their cheapest bottle of wine. No matter the time of day or night. No matter whether it be raining or snowing or pouring Hell itself from the sky above.

 

Perhaps it had sprung up as a gesture of celebration. A way of saying a job well done.

Strangely enough he could remember the time before it. This.

 

 

Long nights home. The rattle of the washer machine echoing through hallways. Polishing his shoes alone at the kitchen table. Fulfillment giving way to stagnation. Empty rooms. Empty plates. Microwaveable dinners and canned or mixable drinks.

Staring at popcorn kernel drywall and the underside of his own sheets. The floor. The ceiling. The lone blink of his cellphone charger plugged into the wall beside his headboard.

 

 

But that was before.

 

  
Now it was talking. Mindless Back and forth. The tap of glass against glass as they toasted. Rooftops. Top floors. Late night skylines. Soft laughter in hushed voices. Tipsy slurs and clumsy hands spilling wine on expensive carpets.

 

 

Yes, ever since he met him, (well ever since they’d seen eye to eye) there had been no more endless evenings or a sense of success gone moribund.

He had someone he could talk to. Someone on his level in which he could share with. Someone whom he felt confident enough, safe enough beside to speak to.

He chalks the rising wave of anticipation boiling in his blood up to an overzealous feeling of companionship. Nothing more, of course. He had always had an abundance of friends and this relationship, though certainly…unique, was no different.

 

 

It’s always the same path. The same flashes of blue and purple and white neon through his car windshield. The same glow of red to green traffic lights across his face and the same curves the the road in front of him.

 

It’s all so terribly replicated. Mundane at this point, really.

 

But familiar. It had an inexplicable tug, this routine. Something far beyond himself urging him along the winding asphalt to his destination, the clinking of the wine against the new glasses he’d picked up dancing in his ears like a pair customary bells.

 

 

When he finally arrives it’s just around midnight. He steps out of his car, humming a soft tune under his breath as he hooks the plastic bag with his fingers and pulls it out to hand beside him. Locking the vehicle, he makes his way up the long narrow row of steps leading up the the headquarters building. His car beeps distantly behind him as he walks, the headlights throwing long slivers of orange over the cropped grass and pristine pavement. Reaching the front door, he fishes out an impressive ring of keys. With a practiced hand he easily locates the proper match and undoes the massive set of deadbolts.

 

The inside of the building is spotless, almost pretentious is size and grandeur. Gleaming marble floors, towering pillars reaching high into the air on either side of a spiraling staircase, dividing the steps from the shining elevator.

His shoes click against the floor, the lonely sound playing on repeat throughout the air.

 

 

The ride up the lift is it’s usual dreary cycle. Step in. Press the button labeled 15. The loop of old fashioned music playing overhead is new, however.

 

 

 _Someone must have changed the playlist,_ he thinks.

 It’s a welcome difference.

 

 

He reaches the door in the expected five minutes. Not a minute sooner or later then wonted.

Three times he raps his knuckles against the heavy wooden door. Three times someone steps inside to pull it aside and bathe his form in blue light. There in the threshold stands a black, hunched silhouette, its face a flat mask of thick shadows.

 

  
“Light Yagami.”

 

 

, comes the usual soft, smooth voice.

Light smiles crookedly, lifting the bag to show off the neck of the wine inside.

 

 

“Ryuzaki.”

 

 

The form steps aside to let him in, to which he quickly does so. Ryuzaki shuts the door behind him, locking all seven impressive locks, before pushing his hands into loose jean pockets.

 

 

“I see you’ve brought the goods.”

 

 

Light’s eyebrow quirks under perfectly styled bangs, a huff of listless, none too impressed laughter falling from his lips.

 

 

“You make this sound like some shady sort of business.”

 

 

Ryuzaki shrugs.

 

 

“My intent, surely.”

 

, he says, toneless even in his amusement,

 

“Or do you suppose I have no sense of humor _still_ after all this time?”

 

 

“I can never tell with you. You might want to try some human emotion.”

 

“Overrated, I’m afraid.”

 

 

Light chuckles at that, nodding to himself. That was something they could agree upon.

 

"Fair enough"

 

Ryuzaki waves him over with a loose roll of his wrist, gesturing vaguely for him to sit on the loveseat just beside the small glass coffee table in the middle of the room.

The other man situates himself in his usual crouched position on the seat a respectable distance away while Light pulls the glasses from the bag. He sets them atop the table, the wine following soon after. There’s already a cork opener laying there, which he helps himself to.

 

“…You know you can stop calling me Ryuzaki.”

 

  
, the other muses, dark eyes watching closely at Light’s face,

 

“The case is wrapped up clean. There’s no use in aliases at this point. It’d be like me calling you Dark.”

 

  
Light tilts his head thoughtfully, his hands working on twisting the cork free.

 

  
“Laying it on thick with the jokes tonight, I see.”

  
“Light.” , Ryuzaki cuts in sharply.

 

  
Light lifts his head to look at him, reddish brown eyes meeting a ones so deep they’re nearly black. His hands stop moving.  
A terse moment passes between them.

 

Light has never liked using the name "L". It was too real. Too close to home. Made him feel as if he said it too loud, somebody wicked would overhear and use it to hurt them both. Or worse, L alone. The world was chock full of evil people. It was just a matter of time.

 

Its an irrational fear, he knows. A fear with no real basis in real life. The world knew Ryuzaki as L, after all. If any one was going to do anything with the name, they could've done it for years on end by now. 

Besides, who was he to determine what L went by. And what should he be so worried about? L surely was far past capable of handling himself and his own affairs.

 

Light looks away and gives a nod of his head.

 

  
“Sure, L.”

  
“Thank you.”

 

The other man reaches past him, long, spindly fingers closing around the stem of the wine glass.

 

 

"These are new" , L surveys, rolling the glass between his pinched fingers as he studies the contours of the glass engravings, "What's the occasion?"

 

 

"The case is solved. Is that not occasion enough?"

 

, Light mutters, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed as he yanks the cork free. L extends his glass and Light fills it.

 

L swirls his drink before sipping it. He makes a face, nose wrinkling as he bad manneredly smacks his lips.

 

 

"Do you always have to buy the cheapest kind? I know you make more money then _this_."

 

 

Light snickers as he fills his own glass, setting the bottle aside so he could lean back and take a long sip of his own. He lets out an obnoxious " _aah_ ".

 

 

"Do you _always_  have to complain? I've been buying this brand for years."

 

L, despite his protests, has already drained half of his glass. Thin, pallid lips tilt in a small sideways sneer.  "You're avoiding my question, Mister Yagami"

 

Light sips at his wine, eyes sliding away to stare down the chair opposite from them.

 

"I suppose it's...familiar." , he admits, almost somberly.

 

"Ah...yes."

, L hums, finally relinquishing his burning gaze from Lights face to look out over the skyline rising in the distance through the far window,

 

"You do seem to be the habitual type." L finishes off his wine, then reaches for the bottle. Light beats him to it, quickly pouring him another. L peers at him again, even closer now.  

 

"...Am I correct?"

 

Light swallows, watching the lights twinkle and wink in far away bulildings and cityscapes.

 

He thinks about the wine. The route coming here. He thinks about the previous elevator music he had memorized by key. He thinks about the fact that he could recite L's floor plan out by heart. He thinks about that same wave of suspense he experiences every time he knocks on the damn door.

 

"Yes"

 

, he says softly,

 

"You are."

 

There's another moment between them. A heartbeat full of a tension that is now unrecognizable.

 

L's ridiculous, large eyes swivel away again. Light notes for probably the seven hundredth time how they always seem to be unblinking. He wonders if it's an intimidation tactic or merely another strange quirk on the list of endless odd habits L possessed. Like the way he crouched everywhere he sat. How he rarely brushed his mop of black hair. How he went through cycles of eating nothing but sweets or nothing at all.

 

Light doesn't remember how all this started. And he certainly doesn't remember how long they sit there together in silence, toasting their glasses and exchanging meaningless banter.

 

He doesn't remember why anything about L leaves an impression on him either.

 

Maybe it was _because_ he was so strange. So..exceptional.

 

Maybe it was because Light himself was exactly the opposite.

 

Familiar.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now lets jump into the plot shall we? >:^>c


	3. Breaking the Cycle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lights birthday doesn't end with the bang he expected

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.

.

 

**10:12 a.m**

 

“Freeze! Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department!"

 

Bullets whiz through the air, exploding in the brick wall just a few handful of inches from Light’s temple. There's the sound of frenzied steps. Running. A car door swinging open then slamming shut. He ducks back behind cover, hiking his gun up to the ready. He shoots the man beside him a glare.

 

“Matsuda, what did I say about yelling that out? This isn't some tv show! You nearly got my head shot off!”

 

Matsuda shrugs his shoulders up sheepishly, flinching when another bullet lodges itself in the concrete beside their feet with a puff of pulverized dust.

 

"S-Sorry Yagami."

 

 _You would've been when the inside of my head was all over your face,_ Light thinks sourly, only nodding curtly at the other officer in reply.

 

"Get fucked!!" , a voice yells from around the corner, unloading three more bullets on the pair of cops.

 

Light grits his teeth. They're pinned. There's nowhere to run but down the alleyway and straight into another wall lined by dumpsters or straight into the line of fire. There's four men. Two have guns. Light thinks fast, the gears of his mind whirring. Suddenly, there's a buzz in his ear from the piece there.

 

"Yagami."

 

The smooth monotone tone is familiar. Light exhales. Somehow the pressing situation feels a degree lighter with that voice chiming in his ear.

 

"L."

 

"They have five shots left."

 

, he says, voice followed by the rapid fire clicks of fingers against computer keys,

 

"Three and two each. Get them to fire then rush them."

 

Light laughs dryly, pulling back on his 9 millimeter to check the bullet loaded into the chamber.

 

"Where would I be without you?"

 

"Just fine or dead." , L drawls, followed by a sip of whatever he's drinking. Most likely liquid sugar, "I haven't decided on my level of modesty this morning. It's too early."

 

Light waves at Matsuda to pass him a broken bottle neck laying beside his foot. Matsuda passes him the thing and Light shifts on his feet. He aims across the alleyway before throwing the bottle high. Just on cue, two reflexive shots ring through the air. Only one hits the flying glass and sends shards crashing to the dirty pavement.

 

Thinking fast, he turns again.

 

 

"Matsuda. Get behind that dumpster and follow my lead."

 

 

His fellow officer nods, mimicking Light when he crouched low and creeps his way towards the dumpster bordering the alleyway corner. He wraps his hands around the edge and pushes. Wheels creaking, the thing rolls forward, Matsuda and Light following closely behind. Using the dumper as a shield, the two barrel across the alley, firing rounds in exchange with their attackers as they move.

 

Light counts.

 

one. two. three...

four. five.

 

Light rolls out- hitting the ground hard on his shoulder as he slides and fires off two rounds straight into both gunmans' knees. The two scream and crumple to the floor, clutching their bleeding wounds as the other two struggle to back the car out of the narrow alley as fast as they can. Tires squeal helplessly on the slick concrete, the tail of the car smashing into a row of metal bins in their haste before Matsuda sends a spray of bullets into their wheels.

On sure feet Light makes his move, the other officer quickly following behind, gun cocked and at the ready as he approaches the car.

 

He glances at Matsuda.

 

"..Go ahead and say it now."

 

Matsuda blinks, then beams brightly, raising his gun at the surrendering two men in the jammed vehicle.

 

 

_"Freeze! Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department! You're under arrest!"_

 

 

Light cant help but shake his head, as if at an overexcited child, while he stoops down to the two withering, wounded criminals and starts fishing out his cuffs.

 

"How generous you are" , L's voice chimes in his ear, along with the tinkle of a spoon against chinaware, "Letting him say his favorite line."

 

Light shrugs despite the fact L can't see such a gesture. "It was fitting for the moment."

 

L laughs. It's a short, cropped sound. It makes Light's lips twitch so he has to fight his face back into its passive mask.

 

Distantly, he can hear Matsuda start listing off the perpetrators' rights in his best police officer voice.

 

 

.

.

.

** 12:00pm **

Clinks of glass. Champagne. Hearty pats on the back and ruffles of his hair.

His birthday. 

 

Its his thirtyth. And what better way to celebrate then taking down a robbery, as Mogi says.

Light laughs along to the force's jokes and antics. He accepts their awkward attempts at gratuitous thanks and heartfelt wishes. Pretends to be surprised when they bring out a lopsided cake Matsuda insists he baked himself. (Even though Light had seen the man running around frazzled with a grocery list of birthday supplies over a week ago.)

 

 

Its all very sincere. Or at least supposed to be. Light has never been one for experiencing things such as this too personally.

 

Some strange part of him never believed he'd see himself reach thirty. Be as successful as he was.

 

Last thing he remembered was being seventeen with a head full of ambitions and hands full of schoolwork.

 

 

 

Thank God nothing had gotten in the way of all that, back then.

 

 

He's just about to retire to his office with his armful of strange hogepodge presents after the force has retreated to head home for the night. But there's the click of the door behind him and Light freezes; turning to lay eyes upon a new arrival.

 

L walks down the aisle of cubicals, a small makeshift birthday hat placed haphazardly atop his thick mess of hair. He smiles, or at least tilts his lips in a way that was his _version_ of smiling, as he approaches, piece of cake in his hand.

 

"Happy big three zero, Mister Yagami." , he muses, big black eyes peering up at him with an uncharacteristic amount of good nature.

 

Light sighs, setting down his array of gifts and dusting his hands free of glitter from one of the homemade boxes.

 

"Thanks."

 

"How does it feel to be a dinosaur?"

 

"To die for. Specifically by meteorite."

 

Light grins dumbly at his own quip and L stares at him with a look of death rather then amusement. Moving on, Light turns to start collecting some paper plates off Matsuda's desk. "Anyhow. What're you doing here? You usually don't show up in public so off hand like this."

 

L stuffs his hands into his pockets, itching one foot with the other while he watches Light's movements as he cleans the party mess.

 

 

 

"Yes...and I _usually_ don't involve myself with abitrary nonsense such as playing cops and robbers, but I guess today is just full of surprises."

 

 

"Well. Someone is being a bit derisive. What's up, really?"

 

 

 

L moves his plate of cake to the other hand, weight shifting from one heel to the other.

 

"...I'll be to the point with you, Light. I'm sorry to break your routine."

 

Light stops in place. His hand is frozen over a box of plastic forks. The air of a deep seriousness hangs over L and the space between them like a heavy blanket.

 

 

"How do you mean?" , he asks slowly, auburn eyes training on L's face for any semblance of expression. Per usual, L's features stay trained to a fixed dead pan.

 

"We just solved the Butcher's case last month. I know you're used to a long reprieve..."

 

"L, you said you'd get to the point."

 

 

 

Large dark eyes swivel up to meet Light's, their intensity so sharp it nearly knocks Light back half a step. L sets the cake down. _This couldn't be good._

 

 

"There's another case, Light. Homicide. And I'm afraid this one may be.."

 

, L trails off, voice reduced to a mumble as he lifts a hand. His thumb hitches up his lip as he murmurs his next words as if they were a curse,

 

"..unstoppable.."

 

Light scoffs, setting down the forks and napkins in his grip to stand straight and regard L with scathing confusion.

 

"L you can't be serious. No one is ' _unstoppable'_. You--"

 

The detective cuts him off, voice suddenly hard. It sends a thrill of apprehension down Light's spine.

 

"They kill ..groups of people. _Mobs_ of civilians. Without any contact at all."

 

Light swallows. L continues, eyes as unblinking as ever in their stare as they bore into him.

 

"Without even _being_ there, without any sort of weapons or carnage. These people are just killing each other and themselves, you see. All for the same person; Myōbatsu."

 

"Myōbatsu?"

 

"Yes..."

 

, L echoes, looking down at his cake. He lifts a fork from the desktop, moving it over to push it down slowly through the slice, sloppily smashing it until it's severed,

 

" Myōbatsu. Retribution. You see, Yagami, we may have a rising mass murderer on our hands."

.

.

.

 

 

 

 


	4. Open Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Light isn't so great at dealing with his own drama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last little chapter before I roll out the long plot heavy ones!

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.

.

Peeling wallpaper and bullets tearing through paper skin.

  
Light can remember it. Watching the blood spring from the shot in Matsuda’s side like some demented sort of fountain. Shouts. Boots thudding.

Matsuda is crying, tears fresh on his screaming face. Light is tearing the sleeve of his shirt quicker then he can think, pressing the wad of torn fabric to the puckered wound. Within seconds the blood seeps through to stain his fingers with sticky red. It’s starting to run over the side of Matsuda’s uniforms thin rivulets. Light is breathing hard, auburn eyes brimming with shock and the vague fog of panic.

Backup. Backup. Where’s backup.

He had called for it the movement before stepping into this death trap. The moment before shots rang out and the acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air. The moment before hot metal tore through Matsuda’s flesh.

Light shushes the other man when he gives a feeble cry, looping his arms under Matsuda’s so he can drag him back behind the sodden couch. Bullets tear through the wall, blasting chunks of drywall into the air so it could shower them both in its dust. Light can taste the dry grit on his tongue as he swallows.

 

 

“Stay with me, Matsuda.” , he whispers, blinking hard at the sound of another shot ringing through the air.

 

 

But Matsuda is shaking his head, body starting to tremble as the pain of his wound sinks deep into his bones. He’s gripping Light’s sleeves tight in his shaking hands, knuckles white as he clutches at him as if he were a lifeline. As if he’ll die if he lets go, if even for a moment.

His face is twisted up, warped with pain and fear. The agonized sweat beading on his forehead mats his dark hair to his skin. He looks so alien, Light thinks wildly, without the cheer in his eyes. All that resides in those depths now is terror. Terror and suffering.

There’s a shout from the next room over. The heavy soles of the robbers’ shoes pounding against the rotting wood of the floor above them, traveling down the stairs to join the men in the hall currently cornering the two cops.

 

 

“Light..” , comes Matsuda’s voice, the weak sound drifting up through the thrum of Lights heart against his eardrums, “Light you’ve got to leave me. I’ll-“

 

 

Matsuda chokes on his hitched breathing. He lets out a stuttering gasp and Light can feel his throat tighten. He wills his face to steer clear of emotion. It’d do no good to reflect the fright in his chest on his features. Light needed to keep things as calm as possible between them. After all they were surrounded. A single misplaced word and they’d both be finished. But he can feel his mask of an expression slowly cracking as the blood from Matsuda’s injury runs hot under his palm. Light steels himself, refusing to grow shaken.

Even in these kinds of predicaments, he has never been demonstrative in his thinking, his feeling. And he’d be damned if his infrangible spine of reservation fractured on him now. Now was the time for quick thinking and steady hands. For piecing together the bits and pieces of this situational puzzle in order to keep both himself and his partner alive.

But there’s so much blood. And so little time before they would be found. Matsuda looks so small in Lights arms. Like some sort of terribly hurt child. A child Light was supposed to care for and protect- not let take a bullet for him. Heavy footsteps were drawing closer already and every groan of the floorboards has Light’s pitter-pattering heart jumping up into his knotted up throat

Matsuda tugs on Light’s remaining sleeve. Light’s eyes swivel down to meet the other man’s ragged face. The officer half smiles at him as he speaks, and Light frankly can’t believe he can muster any sort of cheeriness in a place and time like this,

 

 

“I’ll cover you while y- you run, okay?”

Light is shaking his head before he can even finish.

“No- No, no there’s no way. As long as I’m your partner, I won’t leave you, Matsuda.”

 

 

Light moves one hand to brush his thumb over the officer’s cheek, wiping away a trailing tear. A track of red smears after the digit and Light feels his stomach recoil at the sight. He pulls Matsuda more securely into his lap. Silently, he curses himself for displaying such sentiment, but in the moment finds himself unable to control his actions. Light licks his cracked lips and tries to force them to manufacture some kind of smile, any smile, yet only manages a twitch in the corner of his mouth.

 

 _Damn him_.

 

“We’re going to get out of here together. Don’t forget what you always say. You and me forever, remember?”

 

Matsuda manages a tight little laugh.

“It’s “Super Cops forever”, Light. We’re Super cops.”

Light nods, voice wavering in the ends of his words.

“Yeah. Cops. Lets keep it plural, okay?”

 

But Matsuda is already drifting away. His eyes are losing their characteristic sparkle and focus as the man’s head begins to loll. Light shakes him, heart in a vice as he presses down harder on the wound. But the blood won’t stop. It’s pooling, stretching across the wood floor like some horrible crimson curtain. Light is shaking him, his fiberglass coating of stolidity trembling under the weight of the blood on his hands.

 

Touta Matsuda would die today because of him, he thinks terribly,Because Light couldn’t goddamn keep it together.

 

His mind.  
His situation.

Both were spinning wildly out of his control. Far out of his grasp.

Light was never one to pile unnecessary responsibilities onto himself but here he was;

Utterly surrounded by evil and a man, his own partner, dying in his arms.

What else was he supposed to do but accept this was all his fault. His fault. His fault.

 

 

That’s when Light feels it; a crack in the armor. The sight and smell of blood a sideways jab into his most delicate of points. Points he could not and did not know how to defend for he was unaware of their existence.

His lip trembles.  
Towering walls of confidence and dependability collapse one after the other, bricks crumbling,

 

  
And he breaks.

  
  
  
  
.

.

.

.

**3:20 A.M.**

The sound of his own scream ricochets off the walls like a badly placed bullet. Light sits up fast, quaking hands grasping for purchase at his thin shirt. He shakes. From his head to toe, he shakes, body quivering under the stress and horror pulsing from his dream ravaged brain.

Quick pants fall from his parted lips, the quick grabs at oxygen doing nothing to quell the thick sea of panic drowning him.

 

“Fuck..f-fuck” , he hisses between gasps, throwing his tangled sheets off his body to clamber unsteadily out of bed. On numb feet, Light stumbles his way over to his bathroom. He flicks on the light ill temperedly, hands clumsy as they wrench open the mirror cabinet and carelessly rifle through the contents of his shelves.

His fingers knock over bottles, a stack of disposable plastic cups, his tooth brush, paste, and such before finally closing around a prescription tucked in the back corner. He struggles to open the thing, grip slipping in its shaken weakness before anger blinds him. Light throws the bottle to the floor with vengeance- pills clattering noisily inside as the prescription bounces against the tile and rolls to some far corner of the room.

Light breathes heavy and he breathes hard, hands gripping the sides of the sink as he tries to clear his head.

 

 

Running. Blood. Screaming. Tears.

They all flash across the back of his eyelids like some horrible movie screen. Projecting scenes

It was his fault.

The running, the blood, the screaming, the tears.  
The running, the blood, the screaming, the tears.  
The--

 

 

Light’s knees hit the floor hard enough to make an audible crack of bone and skin against cold tile. He’s still gripping the sink, forehead coming down to rest against the edge in front of him.

No. No ones running. No body is bleeding. There are no screams or tears.  
He’s in his bathroom on kneeling on the floor at some ungodly hour of the night. Or perhaps even morning.

 

But Matsuda? His heart seems to drop through the floor.

 

Light flies to his feet, abandoning the disheveled restroom for the landline resting on his bedside table. He lefts the phone to his ear with one hand and punches the numbers in his head into the keypad so fast he can hardly remember seconds afterward.

 

 _Ring_.

 

Light swallows hard. He can feel his stomach in his throat as he pulls anxiously at the phone cable.

 

 _Ring_.

 

What if Matsuda died. The memory is foggy. Hazy in his feverish hysteria.

  
_Ring_.

 

He’s thinking irrationally, some distant, put together part of him knows, but can’t stop himself. Can’t stop himself just like he couldn’t stop Matsuda from throwing his body between Light and that gun.

 

 _Ring_.

 

Then there’s a crackle. A shift. And before Light knows it, a soft voice hoarse with sleep is speaking to him.

 

“Hello? Light?”

 

Light recognizes the voice as Matsuda’s within an instant. He swallows again to try and School his nerves. When he speaks his voice is, thankfully, unruffled despite some vague tension.

 

“Matsuda.”

 

There’s a muffled sound, to which Light guesses is sheets sliding against one another in the background. A creak of bedsprings follows soon after.

 

 

“Light it’s half past three in the morning! What’s the matter? Is there a call?”

“No, Matsuda, no there’s no call. I just..—how’s your gunshot?”

 

 

Suddenly, there’s nothing but a terse silence on the other line. Light blinks in the darkness of his bedroom, concern falling over him like a blanket. There’s the ticking of the bathroom clock far behind him. The hum of the air conditioner. The lone blink of his cellphone’s charger.

 

 

“Matsuda?”

 

“…Light…” ,comes the other man’s voice after a long moment, “My gunshot wound? That was three years ago”

 

  
In an instant the room seems to shrink five sizes. Everything’s too close. Too claustrophobic. Matsuda’s voice seems to boom in his ear like a train straight into his canal.

 

“Have you been having those dreams again?”

 

Light feels a cold sweat prick along his neck.

He couldn’t slip up. One wrong answer and his infallibility would perish. Matsuda would think of him as some pathetic thing that couldn’t handle the traumas of the past. The weight of the job. He didn’t work this hard for this long to be considered some delicate little waif by his subordinates. Nevertheless his own partner. He just had to give some simple answer. Someone like Touta wouldn’t think too hard on it anyways.

 

 

“..I couldn’t sleep. I was browsing on my phone and came across some article on how some gunshot wounds don’t heal correctly. I got a little concerned and may have overreacted.” , Light says smoothly, adding in some sheepishness to his voice for safety. Internally, he cringes a bit at the less then desirable believability of the lie. Hopefully it’ll suffice.

“…Oh. Well, don’t worry Yagami! Me and the ol’ scar are in perfect working condition!” , Matsuda chirps, and Light can practically feel his beaming smile through the receiver, “You really should get some sleep though. Early day tomorrow and all.”

 

 

Light sighs through his nose and nods despite Matsuda being unable to see the gesture.

 

 

“You’re right. Good night, Matsuda.”

“It’s morning, Light” , Matsuda points out childishly.

 

Light wants to punch him through the phone. He clenches his jaw and digresses.

 

“…Right. Good morning, Matsuda.”

“G’ morning, Light!”

 

 

He sets down the phone after hanging up and a long, trembling breath leaves him. The erratic pounding of his heart in his ears slows to an jerky beat against his ribs. It all leaves him feeling terribly drained. Tired. And most of all ashamed.

After all, Light has always held himself steady with an unbreakable shell of control, logic, and phlegmatic rationale.

He prided himself terribly on these qualities and found them as the pillars to his entire being.

 

Without them he was… _that_.

 

A shaking child on the bathroom floor, so gripped by senseless fear and specters of his own making that he couldn’t even operate enough to open a damned bottle.

Light picks up self up and walks his sorry ass back to the bathroom, setting to work on replacing the items in his cabinet to their proper places. Stooping down, he fishes the prescription bottle from the corner it had rolled itself into and sets it on the counter. Orange plastic and white labels stare back up at him, as if mocking. Light frowns faintly, eyebrows furrowing under his ruffled bangs.

 

 

These little pills have always haunted him. These and the other two bottles stored up in his medicine cabinet. But those aside, it was these minuscule reminders especially.

Anxiety, it says, in sharpie handwriting across the top of the lid. His own lettering.

Light picks up and turns the bottle over in his hand, pills rattling inside.

Take when needed, it says.

 

 

Without thought, Light tosses the thing into a metal bin. It topples off the trash can walls with a clamor as Light flicks off the overhead light and shuts the bathroom door.

 

He'll most likely- no -will regret that in the morning, but it's of no use to him now. Light was not an anxious person. Having anxieties did not warrant medication. His worries and concerns meshed perfectly with that of a normal person. He repeats this to himself, using this artificial reasoning to erase away the nightmare, the phonecall, the feeling of disconcert gnawing at the tails of his thoughts.

 

Sliding back into bed, he pulls up his comforter and steers his thinking away into nothingness.

And when the soft blackness of sleep begins to creep back up to steal away his mind,

The phone rings.

.

.

.


End file.
